When the last days are here, for a dear and close friend,
What do we say to family, when we know, it’s the end?
Consoling words do nothing but sound polite,
It’s over, it done, life is finished, but is that right?.
It is said, the best is yet to come?
What is destiny for each of us, we just don’t know,
No one has been to a promised land and returned, although,
Many make claims of tunnels and bright lights,
But a deep sleep can engender such visions, some nights.
Is the best really yet to come?.
If the promise of a hereafter, has any merit,
Of golden streets and wings we may inherit,
Then I am ready now, I’ll pack up my bags,
Better yet, let us all go, half mast all the flags,
With our God in our heart, the best is yet to come.
With our personal faiths, in whatever we believe,
Pearly gates, golden streets, and joys we will receive,
When we meet our God, and angels in the clouds,
I want to be there, marching with those crowds,
Yes I find solace believing, The best is yet to come.
This is the last thing Russ Miller wrote.
His daughters found this poem on his desk.
Rest in peace, Russ. The Best is yet to come.